Chapter 24
JACK
Sunlight streams through the windows, warm on my face, and the first thing I’m aware of is Lark completely wrapped around me.
One leg thrown over mine, her arm across my chest, her face buried against my neck where I can feel her breath, warm and even, against my skin.
Her hair is everywhere—this wild tangle of dark silk spread across the pillow and my shoulder.
I just lie here soaking it in. Her body pressed against mine, solid and real. Her peaceful breathing. Even in sleep her fingers curl loosely against my ribs, like she needs to be touching me. Outside I can hear birds calling to each other and the faint sound of water from the stream nearby.
And I’m realizing something that should probably terrify me but doesn’t: I could do this every morning for the rest of my life and never get tired of it. Never want anything different. This right here, waking up with Lark in my arms, is enough. More than enough.
When did I become this person? The guy who thinks about forever with one woman? Part of me wants to believe it’s possible. That I can have this and racing. That I won’t fuck it up like I fuck up everything else eventually.
Nobody ever made me want to try before. The idea of commitment always felt like something to run from. But Lark… Lark changes everything. She makes me want things I didn’t know I was missing.
She stirs against me, making a soft sound. Her leg tightens around mine and her hand spreads flat against my chest. I’m already getting hard just from the warmth of her body pressed against mine, from knowing we’re both still naked under these sheets.
I run my hand down her spine slowly, feeling every curve. My fingers trace lower, over her hip, squeezing slightly. I can’t get enough of touching her.
She makes that sound again, this pleased little hum, and shifts closer.
Pressing herself more firmly against me.
Her eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the bright sunlight.
She blinks a few times, confused for a second, and then she looks at me.
A slow smile spreads across her face, sleepy and soft and so beautiful.
“Creeper,” she mumbles, snuggling closer against my neck, her voice still thick with sleep. “Watching me sleep like some kind of stalker.”
“I can’t help it,” I say, pushing hair out of her face. “You’re too fucking pretty to look away from.”
She lifts her head slightly to look at me, eyes still half-closed but clearly pleased.
“Flatterer,” she says, stretching against me deliberately, pressing her whole body against mine. “Trying to get in my pants with your sweet talk?”
“You’re not wearing any pants,” I point out, my hand sliding down to grip her bare ass. “So I’d say I’m already there.”
She laughs, low and a little husky. “Fair point.”
“You know, last night you made me promise to make you breakfast this morning,” I say, even though getting out of this bed is the last thing I want to do right now.
“You did,” she agrees, but her hand is sliding down my stomach now, lower, and her eyes have that look in them that makes my mouth go dry. “But that can wait.”
“Yeah?” My hand tightens on her hip.
“Yeah.” She shifts, pushing me onto my back and climbing on top of me in one smooth motion. The sheet falls away completely and she’s naked and beautiful above me, her hair falling around her face, and I forget how to form words. She grins down at me, wicked. “I have a better idea.”
Saying goodbye to Lark at the Banff cabin, knowing she was heading back to Dark River while I flew to S?o Paulo, Brazil, was harder than I expected. But this is the job. This is what I signed up for.
The Interlagos circuit is one of my favorites—challenging corners, unpredictable weather.
I spent all day today in the garage and simulator, going over race strategy scenarios with the engineers, reviewing telemetry data from Friday’s practice sessions.
As a reserve driver, I need to know every detail of Davis’s and Luca’s setups in case I have to jump in the car.
It’s not likely, but it’s my job to be ready.
These race weekends are always the same mixture of the best and the worst. Best because I’m here, in the paddock, surrounded by the sport I love.
The smell of racing fuel, the sound of engines screaming down the straight, the energy of a Grand Prix weekend building, this is where I belong.
This is home in a way nowhere else has ever been.
Worst because I’m so close to it and yet I can’t race. I’m watching from the garage instead of being in the car. Watching Davis struggle to extract pace from a Ferrari that I know I could put on the podium. Eighteen months of this. Eighteen months of being right there but not quite there.
But if Thomas is right about what he wants to discuss tonight, maybe that’s about to change.
S?o Paulo at night is cool, the air almost pleasant after the dry heat of the day, nothing like the mountain cold I left behind in Canada.
The restaurant Thomas picked is in Jardins, one of those places with white tablecloths and waiters who move like they’re performing ballet, tucked into a quiet street away from the chaos of Avenida Paulista.
Thomas is already there when I arrive, sitting at a corner table by the window with a view of the tree-lined street outside. He looks relaxed in slacks and a button-down, and waves when he sees me.
“Flight okay?” he asks, already signaling the waiter.
“Long but fine. Slept most of it.” I settle into the chair.
The waiter appears and Thomas orders a whiskey for himself, glances at me with a raised eyebrow. “Water for you?”
“Yeah, sparkling,” I say. Race weekend means no alcohol, even if Thomas is off duty enough to indulge.
The waiter returns quickly with Thomas’s whiskey in a heavy crystal glass and my sparkling water with lime, and takes our food order.
“So,” Thomas says once we’re alone again, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“Your sponsors are very pleased. The image rehabilitation has exceeded expectations.” He’s more animated than usual, gesturing slightly with his glass.
“The situation with Lark—Miami, the race appearances, the social media consistency—it’s been exactly what they needed to see.
Professional, stable, mature. Thankfully the rumors about fake dating have died out.
Without any proof, people have already moved on to the next thing. ”
“Good,” I say, taking my own drink. The water is cold and crisp, not quite as satisfying as whiskey would be but that’s the trade-off. “Those rumors were getting annoying.”
“Agreed, the whole thing was ridiculous,” Thomas laughs.
One of these days I’m gonna have to tell him the truth. Maybe once I’ve got my seat back and he can’t have a heart attack over it. I take another sip to cover my amusement.
“Also, Robert called me personally last week.” Thomas leans forward, his expression more serious now.
“He said he’s proud of how you’ve handled everything this year.
Said you’ve shown real growth, that he’s seeing the maturity he always knew you had.
Coming from someone who’s invested millions in you since you were twelve, I’d say that’s significant. ”
Something warm spreads through my chest hearing that. “Yeah, he sent me a text too. Nice to hear, especially after how disappointed he was earlier this year.”
“Agreed. He doesn’t say things like that lightly.
” Thomas leans back slightly, studying me over his glass.
“Your contract situation is looking very solid, Jack. Ferrari is impressed with your reserve work, your consistency, your focus this season. If things continue on this trajectory, you’re looking at getting your full-time seat back next season.
We might even see an announcement soon, based on what their lawyers have indicated. ”
Thank fucking god. I’ve been trying to get my full-time seat back for the last eighteen months.
Fighting for it, working for it, sacrificing for it.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted—my seat in Formula One, Ferrari driver, eventually world champion.
Everything I’ve built my entire life around since I was a kid.
“That’s what we’ve been working toward,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though relief is flooding through me.
“Which is why we need to discuss logistics.” Thomas sets his glass down, his expression turning more serious.
“Next season, if you get that seat, you’re back to the full circuit schedule.
It’s going to be intense, especially when you’re proving yourself after being out of a full-time seat.
More pressure than you’ve ever had, more scrutiny.
Everyone will be watching to see if you can still perform at that level. ”
“It’s part of the job,” I say with a shrug. “I was a full-time driver for years before the injury. I know what it takes.”
“I know you do.” Thomas nods. “I just want to make sure we maintain this momentum, keep everything on track. And honestly, it’ll be good to have you back in Europe full-time.
The small-town thing, visiting family, dating the local girl, it’s been great for the image, really humanized you.
But it makes conducting business harder when my client is half a world away in the Pacific Northwest.”
Small-town girl. Local girl. Like Lark is just some temporary detour, some PR strategy that served its purpose.
“Yeah, well, I’ll still be back home more than usual,” I say, hearing the defensiveness creeping into my voice. “To see Lark. And I’ll fly her out to races when I can.”
Thomas blinks in surprise, like this wasn’t the response he expected.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.
Just, with your track record, I figured that was fizzling out by now.
Most of your relationships don’t make it long.
Anyway—” He’s already moving on, pulling up something on his phone.
“Let’s talk about the media schedule for next week.
You’ve got that interview with Sky Sports, and then—”
I should correct him. Tell him he’s wrong, that Lark isn’t like the others, that this is different. That I’m different with her. But the words stick in my throat.
He keeps talking, scrolling through his calendar, completely unaware that he just detonated something in my head. My mind is stuck on what he said, playing it on repeat.
With your track record, I figured that was fizzling out by now.
Two days ago, waking up with Lark in that cabin, I wasn’t questioning anything. I was sure we could make this work. Sure the distance was manageable, sure what we have is strong enough.
And then Thomas makes one casual observation based on a decade of watching me bail on relationships, and suddenly there’s this voice in my head I can’t shut up.
The food arrives and I eat mechanically, the steak probably excellent but I barely taste it. Thomas is talking about tire strategies and weather forecasts for Sunday’s race, comparing data from last year’s S?o Paulo Grand Prix. I nod when I need to, make appropriate sounds.
But I can’t stop thinking about my track record.
Because he’s not wrong about the facts. I’ve never had a relationship last past a month, and even that’s pushing it. The second things ever got serious, I ended it. Clean break, move on, don’t look back. It’s what I’ve always done.
And the schedule next season will be brutal.
Twenty-four races means I’m gone most of the year.
Flying between continents, living out of hotels, barely having time to sleep between obligations.
When I’m stressed about performance and Lark needs me but I can’t be there.
When she has something important and I’m on the other side of the world.
When we go weeks without seeing each other.
What happens when the pressure gets to be too much?
What happens when I fall back into old patterns because that’s what I’ve always done?
What if I end up hurting her? Because guys like me always do eventually. I shove the thought down. That’s not going to happen. We’re good. I’m not going to fuck this up. But the doubt is there now, planted.
“Jack?” Thomas’s voice cuts through. “You with me?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I take a long drink of water. “Just tired. Long flight.”
“Understandable. Get some rest tonight,” he says, already signaling for the check. “Big weekend ahead. Eyes are on you, especially with the contract situation so close. Stay focused.”
“Always am,” I say.
We finish up and say our goodbyes outside the restaurant. Thomas heads back to his hotel and I walk back to mine, the cool night air doing nothing to clear my head. My phone is heavy in my pocket. I should text Lark. Check in, see how she’s doing, let her know how things are going here.
But I don’t. I just keep walking, Thomas’s words echoing in my head with every step.